Reignition
by Kira-Akabane
Summary: Set 25 years after the fall of the Capitol. It is a first person story told from the perspective of Katniss and Peeta's son. The government has changed hands again and the celebration of the old Capitol's downfall is upon them but a horror from the past awaits.
1. Chapter 1

**Reignition**

It had been 25 years since the fall of the old regime when it happened. At the time my sister and I were both 17, although she was much closer to her 18th than I was. We came in quick succession because apparently our dad begged our mom for kids. My name is Finnick Cinna Everdeen.

**Chapter 1: Celebration**

There was a kind of unwritten guide in our family on naming our children. My mother and her sister were both named after types of plant, and so was my sister but not because of family tradition. We were both named to honour those who fell fighting alongside our parents, those who they still hold dear but are no longer with us. Finnick Cinna Everdeen and Primrose Rue Everdeen. My mother told us the whole story when we were old enough. Until then we looked at a book her and father had made. Each page had a picture or a sketch of someone and all the information they could remember about them. My mother would get choked up every time we came to certain people's pages; her sister Prim, her friend Finnick, her fellow tribute Rue, and her stylist Cinna. These were the people who meant and still mean the most to her and that is why we got the honour and the privilege of sharing their names. Lest we forget.

We were sat in our house in the Victor's Village watching the TV when we saw the bulletin. A woman stood outside the presidential palace in the Capitol speaking into a microphone. "We are here for the live announcement for this year's celebration of the fall of the old government." A lot had changed since then, most notably the change in president. President Paylor had handed over the presidency of Panem to someone else; President Ignatius. Not many people were that fond of him but he kept the country running smoothly. Many people suspected he was a little too fond of the old Capitol way but the regime had hardly changed from the reign of Paylor and everything seemed perfectly fine.

District 12 had been revitalised since it was bombed all those years ago. No more was it smoke and ashes, charred bodies littering the streets. We had rebuilt it. The district that was on fire had risen from the ashes. The old name of District 12 was what the Capitol named us but we kept it because it was _our_ name and it distinguished us. The districts still had the same boundaries and the rest of them had kept their names too. We had always been District 12 and we didn't want to get rid of a name that carried so much weight. After all, everyone associated that name with the one who brought the Capitol to its knees. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were from this district. They were the ones to lead the rebels in their revolution. She was their Mockingjay. "The starcrossed lovers of District 12" was what they were known as. My mother told me the story as we watched the videos of them, how my father had loved her since the age of 5 when he tossed the bread that he had burnt on purpose, at the expense of a beating from his mom, to the girl out in the rain, dying from starvation. She told us how the relationship between them was always in doubt because of her conflicted emotions and then when she finally did know she loved him, their relationship was virtually non-existent because of the methods used by the Capitol to hijack him and rob him of the feelings he had for her, causing him to hate her and become homicidal. We were not spared the details because everyone had a right to know the horrors that were encountered by all of those who opposed Snow and the Capitol.

The town had been rebuilt to exactly what it had been, although a lot of the inhabitants had changed. Nowadays they spent their time living easy lives since the wealth was spread out a little bit more instead of the rich Capitol inhabitants having everything and the poor families from the districts having to either hunt down their own food or starve. Although Greasy Sae had passed her place was still being run after it was taken over, although the food was made with more quality ingredients the second time around. The Hob, the place where black market trading was done had also been resurrected, although most luxury items weren't completely out of our reach anymore. We still managed to trade things there though after we came back from our hunting lessons with our mom. She would sit in a specific place each time and tell us of Gale, her friend that now lived in District 2, who she used to hunt with before she met our dad. As we sat watching TV the reporter lifted her finger to her ear and then announced that to celebrate this year's anniversary all of the inhabitants of each district were to gather in the square for a special announcement from the Capitol.

That day we all trudged down to the square to hear the announcement in our finest dress. I remember stepping into the open square and thinking of all the tragedies that had ever befallen our district. Every year for 75 years, children had been taken away from their families and forced to fight to the death for the amusement of those in the Capitol. I had inherited my mother's eyes and my father's hair but I also inherited a lot of their personalities too. We both had. We both had our mother's sense of injustice and I had to clench my fists when I thought of how the Hunger Games were a part of life back then. I thought about the day my mother and father were picked to compete in those games, how my mother sacrificed herself to save her sister, how they were both picked again for the Quarter Quell. This square held televised death lotteries for years. We had watched all the videos of our parents before, but only after they let us. It was only when we turned 16 that they allowed us to view them. We saw every kill, every interview, every tear, every kiss and every heartbreak that they went through. I understood why they didn't let us watch them until then. Even at that age it was hard to watch. We followed the other people from the district and my sister and I stood in line with everyone else. It was eerie how everyone still assumed the usual lines that they used to stand in for reapings. Then the screen flashed into life and the chiselled face of Ignatius appeared before us. "Citizens of Panem, it is now 25 years since the fall of the old regime and, just like every year, we will celebrate. This year the council and I have agreed on what it will be. We recently stumbled across a document drawn up by President Coin 25 years ago announcing a final Hunger Games, agreed upon by a majority of remaining victors. We have decided that to commemorate the victory over Snow and the old government, we will hold these games. Your district representative will now commence with the reaping. And remember, may the odds be ever in your favour." The screen goes blank and chaos ensues.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Reaping**

Shouting, screaming, tears and attempts to break the screen that President Ignatius had appeared on followed the news that for one more year, the Hunger Games would be resurrected. Suddenly we were back to square one when our parents were children themselves. As if by magic the crowd soothed and accepted the situation, probably because this reaction had been learnt over years. The children were left in the lines and the weeping, inconsolable parents stood around the edge of the square. Just then the unmistakable but aged form of Effie Trinket wandered onto the stage, followed by two helpers. One carried a microphone and the other a circular bowl with dozens of pieces of paper inside it. Written on these were all the names of the inhabitants of 12 who were under 18 years of age. It was clear to see that the old Capitol style still existed. Effie was wearing an all blue ensemble, including her hair which I expected would have been grey by now. Then she began to speak in her usual upbeat way. "Citizens of District 12, as you know, the Hunger Games have been brought back for a final year to celebrate the downfall of the old Capitol way. We would like to make this year's Hunger Games a tribute to the 74th games in which the revolution started. As such, we have decided that this year's tributes should be made of the same metal and fire that inspired such a brave uprising, so we have narrowed down the candidates. To two. The tributes will be Finnick and Primrose Everdeen."

_The bowl full of names was just a ruse. They never intended to use it! _I look around to see my sister and she is just as shocked as I am. My eyes then settle on my mother who isn't crying or upset, she just has a look of fire in her eyes. My sister and I both catch each other's gaze and walk up to the stage where Effie is waiting to greet us with the same massive smile we saw her greet our parents with. We stand on the stage next to her as she calls for our parents to join us. "Please give a hand for these two tributes' mentors!" she almost sings into the microphone as she gestures towards them. "Let's make this a family affair."

"I'm coming too" says a voice from the silence, and Haymitch appears from the crowd. He had lost a bit of hair since he moved back to 12 but he still looked pretty much the same. I presumed that all the alcohol had preserved him in the same state for all those years. He emerged from the crowd and the three of them walked towards the stage in unison, giving me hope that with their help we could actually win this thing and emerge as victors. But I wasn't too confident. Just because we were Katniss and Peeta's children didn't mean that people would take it easy on us in a life or death situation. In fact, we would be a main target, a big scalp to get. We all stood there, the five of us, staring down at the crowd. As if we shared a mind we all raised our hands to our mouths, kissed our fingers and raised them above our heads in a chilling re-enactment of my mother's salute; the salute that meant so much to her and also to Rue. The crowd responded in kind and for a while the whole square stood silent. The doors opened behind us as we turned and left District 12 behind us with Effie's words ringing in our ears. "The District 12 tributes!"

Inside the rebuilt building we waited in a room where past tributes would have waited except from this was now a new room built on top of where the old one was. No one came to see us though because all of our loved ones were heading to the Capitol with us, so we had some time alone to talk. "What do you think it'll be like?" asked Rose. We had always called her Rose for short, probably because although our mother had named her after her sister, she still couldn't bare to call anybody else Prim. That named was retired.  
"Well we know it'll be hard and half the battle will be against the element." I tell her.

"Do you think we'll win? Twenty-four go in and only one will come out you know."

"Stop." I say, and shoot her an icy stare. "We're both coming out. If they want to make this like mom and dad's games then we will too. There'll be two victors again." She smiles at this and we both spend the next few minutes in silent thought until we're collected and escorted to the station. We board the train and sit in the lunch carriage. They had kept the train from the last games because it still ran well and was still quite decadent inside. This train had carried countless tributes to their deaths.

After a while our parents came in and sat in the chairs opposite us, along with Haymitch. He was the first one to speak. You could smell the gin. "Now, before you ask, I'll give you the same advice as I did these two" he says, motioning towards our parents. "Stay. Alive." He glares at us, eyes flicking between us both. I look at our parents for the faintest hint of a smile but there's none. This was obviously the best advice they had gotten from Haymitch too. My mother sat up. "What you need to remember is who you are." she said. "The games change people. They mess with your head. At one point I didn't know whether I would kill your father or do everything I could to save him. Just remember who you're fighting for and who you're fighting with." she added.

"Your mothers right" dad chirped. "The one you're fighting in there is yourself."  
The games were more than we had thought. It wasn't just about placing you in a random terrain and letting you fight it out with your opponents, it was more than that. It was a battle of nerves, wit and sanity. The arena was more mental torture than physical. We sat there listening to every bit of advice and every scenario that they could throw at us. There were endless possibilities. Any environment possible _was_ possible. The one thing they could be sure of though is that it wouldn't be an arctic terrain. Apparently that one was a flop back in the games' heyday. Rose chimed up every now and then to ask a question like "What weapons will be available?" or "How much can the game masters control the environment?" and judging by the answers we had no idea what we were in for. Weapons varied depending on the arena and the environment depended on what the game masters wanted to control and why. I had a feeling what they would do in terms of the arena though, even if nobody else did. "They'll use the wooded arena again." I say quietly. The conversation stops and I look up at them.

"What makes you say that son?" asks dad.

"Think about it," I reply. "They want to make these games a commemoration of yours. They'll want to use the same arena. All they have to do is rebuild it." I reply. Looks are exchanged between everyone and then Haymitch interjects.

"We'll work on that premise. It's the best idea we've got so far." he says.

After a meal, during which mom insists we try some of this stew that was her favourite or something when she was in the Capitol, Effie tells us to get some rest because we would be meeting our stylists tomorrow and would need a lot of energy for such a big day. As I lie in my bed I think about all that had happened in such a short time and slowly drift off to sleep, but my dreams aren't much better. I dream that I am in the same situation as my mother, trying to escape the fire that the game makers are aiming at me. I run for what seems like days but unlike her I don't escape. I don't get away fast enough. The flames engulf me and everything turns black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Flare**

I awoke to a loud banging on my door, presumably by Effie. Today was my day with the stylists and I wasn't looking forward to it to be perfectly honest. They charged into my room equipped with scissors, makeup, combs, razors and all kinds of products that made me shiver at the thought of being covered in them. Surprisingly though they didn't do too much to me, thanks to my lead stylist Halern. He was a nice chirpy man who just loved to gossip about things happening around the districts but he was also very down to earth. They combed my hair into a style similar to my fathers and dressed me in a colourful suit and an open shirt. It seemed as though stylists had come to their senses in terms of what looks good. Most of the weird transformations had gone out of style in the Capitol although people were still all kinds of colours.

We pulled into the station in the Capitol and it was just like the old days. The world had moved on but apparently the possibility of seeing twenty four kids killing each other still had drawing power. We disembarked in a hurricane of camera flashes and people screaming our names. In no time we were in our accommodation. Our parents had told us about this place before but it was a lot more impressive in real life. We had every luxury. We went through the usual routine; settling in, having dinner, preparing for various events. Before we knew it we were in the clutches of our stylists again, being dressed for the parade. I liked my stylist. He had some good ideas. As I expected we were going to be the focus of the tribute parade and with our outfits we were definitely going to make a splash.

Standing backstage we got a few final words from Halern and were given just one small thing to hold. A match. We boarded our chariot and took a look around at all the other tributes, who all seemed to be no older me. A few of them were twelve, the youngest you could be in the games. I felt sorry for them. A year ago they needn't have worried but now they were forced to kill or be killed. One by one the chariots left to applause from the crowd. I could imagine an old Caesar Flickerman in the commentary box talking to everyone in Panem. At last it was our turn and as we came out into the open I could sense the disappointment in the crowd. I turn to my sister and we both share a look of understanding. We raise our matches in the air and light them by scraping a patch on our thumbs along them. I see the excitement in the eyes of the audience, as we lower the matches to our head. As we were putting on our black costumes that had a red and orange glow we were told to put a substance on our hair. It was only before we went out that we found out what it was for. The matches lit our hair in a whoosh that could be heard around the stadium and the flames caught on our costumes, creating two lines of fire going from our shoulders, down our arms and to our hands. I caught a glimpse of us on the big screen. We looked like gods; our hair and our wingspan alight.

We pulled up at the end of the long stretch in two rows of six chariots and saw President Ignatius take his place at the podium ready to give his speech. All I could think of was how the citizens of Panem and the government itself could let this happen again. We all thought that the days of watching children die were over but now here we were, stood on a chariot being dictated to by the inhabitants of the Capitol.

"Our esteemed guests," said Ignatius high above us. "We welcome you here for our one off special of the Hunger Games. We hope that this contest will be the best one ever."

There was a mixed reception to this. Many of the people present had fully accepted this pageant was once again open and it was quite frightening how easy they had slipped back into the old way of thinking. All it took was one mention of a comeback and everyone reverted back to how they used to be all those years ago. President Ignatius continued with his speech.

"This test of strength, bravery and determination has been resurrected for the anniversary of the fall of the old regime. You may ask why we would repeat the most gruesome part of our history but the answer is a simple one. To remember and experience once again how these games affect the general public is to give ourselves the greatest incentive to never return to the old ways permanently ever again."

Everybody clapped except from the tributes. Many were scared, some were confused and I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed to think that these people witnessed what happened all those years ago and still think that this was a good idea. His speech was executed with flare and panache but it made no sense. He was twisting himself in knots and his plan was idiotic. He had an ulterior motive for sure.

When we returned to our top floor apartment we were exhausted but the ever excitable Effie was still rabbiting on about us and how we're bound to win. I went to bed after half an hour. It wasn't a good night for me. Half the night was spent dreaming about the dead; everyone who fell at the hands of the Capitol. In the Hunger Games alone it was over one thousand seven hundred if my math was correct. In the war it must have been ten times that. More probably. Our parents had eventually recounted all the tales of the dead. The ones that they knew anyway. I think they wanted us to know about them so that we could keep their memories alive. Plus, if the next generation isn't aware of the past it may become their future. Our mother had told us the story of how she had met Rue and we had even watched the tape. Father had told us about the allies they made, and lost, during their time being part of the rebellion. But the biggest loss of all to our family was that of Prim. I couldn't imagine that happening to my sister so I couldn't begin to know how my mother had felt. Prim hadn't been a protagonist, she had never harmed a fly and yet she was stolen way, while trying to help people too. But that's what war does; it takes away the ones who should never have left us in the first place. Not at that age. I drift off into a long and disturbing sleep, but not before vowing that I will hunt down Ignatius and make him pay. _If he wants to send children into a warzone then we'll become soldiers, and overthrow his regime._


End file.
